Regret
by Tainted Wicked
Summary: Remus regrets ever having a baby. Takes place in 1981. WARNING: MPreg, Remus/Snape slash, no explicit content. Complete.


"Bond with it," Snape repeated flatly, looking down at the pink-swaddled infant sleeping in the cradle.

Something clutched painfully in Remus' chest.

It was the same look Snape bestowed upon anyone fool enough to heap praise upon the late James Potter's head in his presence. It never failed to hurt Remus then, and to see it directed at their child was almost beyond endurance.

"Yes, bond with her," he said, but his voice wavered as he wondered if perhaps he had not better leave Snape be, for all their sakes. "You only came to the infirmary once. You could take some time to get familiar with her."

"I fail to see the need for that."

Remus blinked, frowning.

"It doesn't know I'm here," Snape said, looking down at the infant again. "A house-elf is just as well until --"

"Until what?"

Snape sniffed disdainfully, taking a step away from the cradle and turning to the mirror to adjust his high collar. "Until it reaches such an age that attention paid it will not be wasted."

"What age is that?" Remus asked quietly.

Snape's eyes caught his in the mirror. His lip curled. "Judging by the halfwits I've been forced to deal with daily in my classes? I don't know that they ever do reach it."

Remus opened his mouth, but the words that were on the tip of his tongue never came. He sighed. "It's no use arguing with you, is it Severus?"

"I refuse to put my life on hold for an uncertain thing. If it proves to be worthy of further time and effort, then I will provide it. Then, and not before."

Remus watched dully as Snape picked up his stack of books and headed for the door. If there was anything more he could have said, he didn't know what it might be.

The door shut, leaving him alone in the bleak, badly lit room.

His shoulders drooped, and the sudden loss of tension was almost painful. He hadn't realized how tightly wound he had been. He collapsed onto the edge of the stiff armchair.

For a long time he sat in silence, his thoughts holding him in a gloomy trance.

But there were things to do, and he couldn't dwell on his troubles all day. The baby would wake up hungry any --

As if hearing his thoughts, the infant stirred, picking up a shrill wail that bounced off the stone walls of the cavernous room.

"There, sweetheart," Remus soothed, picking her up. "Don't cry. I'll have a bottle for you in no time."

She continued as though he had not spoken.

With one hand he managed to pour the milk from the warming pan into the bottle, stretch the rubber nipple around the bottleneck, and wipe the spilled drops from the stove before sitting down in the armchair again.

"There you are," he said as the baby latched on greedily. "All that crying must be exhausting. No wonder you're so hungry."

For a moment, he thought her eyes had turned upward, meeting his. Then her eyelids fluttered closed, as if shutting him out.

"You too, eh?" Remus murmured. Then he shook his head, sighing. Exhaustion must be catching up with him, if he was imagining scorn in the innocent eyes of his newborn daughter.

The clock above the mantle ticked away the minutes. He leaned back, trying to find a comfortable position. The baby's weight lying across his arm was numbing the tips of his fingers. The hard cushions pushed against his spine instead of providing support.

The baby drank her fill, stretched in a wide yawn, and dropped off into sleep.

Remus didn't move. As uncomfortable as the chair was, he had begun to doze, and couldn't rouse himself enough to cross the room to return the baby to the cradle.

Besides, she might wake.

He shut his aching eyes.

No sooner than he had dropped off into uneasy sleep, a derisive sniff awoke him.

"S-Severus?"

Snape frowned at him. He had lifted the baby out of Remus' lap, and was now holding her carelessly in the crook of one arm.

Remus leaped up, reaching for her. "Careful!"

Snape twisted away. "I am hardly likely to drop it."

Remus watched warily while Snape placed the baby in the cradle. "What are you doing back so early?"

"Early?" Snape's eyes flickered from Remus' face to the clock. "My last class ended an hour ago."

Indeed, it was late afternoon. Remus rubbed his eyes, shaking his head. He didn't feel rested at all, despite having apparently slept several hours. "I see. How was your day, Severus?"

Snape looked disgusted. "The students are behind. They've been allowed to forget even what little I've been able to drum into their skulls."

"That bad?"

"It's as I expected."

"Has Albus consented to let you return to full-time teaching?"

Snape hesitated, then shook his head. "Not yet. He claims he wants to see how I get along. But I'm confident he will sign a five year contract."

"He should. He will never find a finer Potions master."

Snape ignored that statement. Looking around, he frowned at the table, where the dirty breakfast dishes were still piled. "I see you haven't overexerted yourself."

Remus gritted his teeth. "I will call a house-elf up."

Snape turned to regard him. Finally he nodded in approval. "I'm glad you are ready to do the sensible thing. You have run yourself ragged. And for what? A house-elf can do the job much better than you can, and leave you free to take care of your other obligations." He paused, his face twisting in displeasure. "Weasley is still asking after you. He interrupted my morning class."

Remus rubbed his eyes warily. "I should see him. I just need... more time."

Snape sniffed deprecatingly, but said nothing.

Remus sighed. How could he talk about Sirius with Snape? No matter what Sirius' crime, Remus mourned the loss of his friends. All of them, equally. He could not face Arthur Weasley if the man meant to dredge up all the hurts the previous summer had brought.

Snape had gone into the study with his books, and Remus walked slowly over to the cradle.

The baby.

Innocent of any wrong-doing, but still the cause of everything that had gone wrong in Remus' life that year.

It was all wrong, really. It had been wrong from the day he had made the fatal error of hiding his condition from his friends to the day he demanded Snape accept responsibility for something neither one of them had caused.

He should have known that concealing such a thing at a time when even the most close friends could fall under suspicion of treachery was not going to be without consequences.

He had known, or should have known, that Remus Lupin and Severus Snape raising a child together was... wrong. A werewolf and a former Death Eater barely past the threat of being thrown into Azkaban; neither one of them had anything to offer her. Snape had made it clear he wouldn't be bothered. He would have left Remus to fend for himself if the post-war chaos in the Ministry's Justice Department hadn't made it necessary for both of them to go into hiding.

Remus simply didn't have the energy to do it alone anymore.

Why hadn't he taken that potion? Snape had brewed it the very night Remus had come to him and revealed his secret -- that by the time Auror Moody had arrived to free him from the cell where Snape had hidden him, it had been too late to take a contraceptive. He must have been sure Remus would snatch it from his hand and drain the vial to the last drop. The look on his face when Remus slapped the potion out of his hand, dashing it on the stone floor, was still clear in Remus' mind. He saw it every time he closed his eyes.

Remus had been stubborn. He had made the decision for both of them.

He could still remember his argument, down to the last words he had thrown into Snape's face. The baby wasn't at fault; they wouldn't be in this situation if Snape had done his job; he wasn't going to let Voldemort win...

How many times since that night had be wished Snape hadn't saved him? Remus' own foolishness had led him into the trap, try as he might blame the inaccurate information Snape had passed on. Snape should have fed him the poison and given Voldemort the satisfaction of watching him writhe in prolonged agony before death. Sometimes Remus felt that the potion Snape gave him instead had caused more pain than the poison would have. And with poison, at least, there would have been an end in sight.

Why had he been so convinced that he could trump Voldemort by turning a curse into a blessing? He had lost sight of the fact that Voldemort was gone, and the only people likely to suffer from Remus' decision were those who would have to face its consequences.

It was no blessing.

He should have known it wouldn't be. Marry Snape and have a baby... Remus would have been happy to find out a Confounding Potion was responsible for that delusional thinking, but it had been all his own.

"Why do you stare at it so?"

Remus blinked, coming out of his gloomy reverie. He shrugged, not meeting Snape's eyes. "Her, Severus. Not 'it'. And she's beautiful when she's sleeping."

"Pity she doesn't do it more often."

Remus swallowed bitterly.

A moment passed in dead silence. Snape arched one eyebrow. "Not going to argue on behalf of your innocent offspring?"

"You... seem to have made up your mind," Remus said, turning away and evading the question. And hating himself because it proved down inside he believed Snape was right.

Snape always could see right through him. The calm, mild exterior that pacified so many and helped Remus survive in a hostile world had never had much effect on him.

And he was right.

Down inside, beneath the docile smiles and the eagerness to please, Remus Lupin was a monster.

Snape's eyes seemed to be boring a hole in the back of his head.

"I'll call a house-elf," Remus said. It was the only excuse he could think of to get out from under that knowing stare.

He left the room. Snape's hard gaze seemed to follow him until he had shut the door behind him.

He called up a house-elf and gave the order to straighten up the dining area and bring dinner. No sooner than he finished, he heard the baby begin to fuss. Even through the thick oak door, the sound was unmistakable. Demanding.

Well, Snape was in there. For one bloody time, he could get her.

The baby continued to wail pitifully.

Determined not to be swayed, Remus sat down in the armchair by the fireplace and crossed his arms over his chest.

Minutes passed. The cries grew louder, punctuated with shrill, hysterical screeching.

And then... silence.

The change was so abrupt that Remus leaped out of his chair in a rush of panic. Crossing the room in two bounds, he threw open the door.

Snape was standing over the cradle, a bottle of milk in one hand. He was simultaneously attempting to prod the nipple between the infant's tightly clenched gums and to glare her into submission.

And the baby... was glaring in return. Her little face was screwed into an ugly expression so like Snape's that Remus halted several feet away, his hands, which had instinctively stretched out toward the child, dropping to his sides limply.

"Lupin," Snape said, shoving the bottle into Remus' hand so roughly that milk squirted over both of their wrists, "I do believe she's possessed."

"Possessed..." Remus repeated faintly, staring blankly at the baby.

Snape snorted. "It's as good an explanation as any. Take her. I have work to do."

With that, Snape turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.

Remus forced himself to take the final three steps toward the cradle. He looked down at his daughter.

Wet eyes stared back at him out of a pinched, red face.

She was just a baby. Just a baby. Not a beast. Not possessed. Not capable of rage or scorn or defiance. She had only the instinctive needs of a newborn, and a newborn's tools for getting those needs met. There was no sinister motive behind her behavior; she had merely worked herself into a fit -- a direct result of Remus' neglect.

Overcome with guilt, he picked her up and hugged her to his chest.

Choking on his own tears, he sat down and arranged her more comfortably across his lap. Murmuring comforting nonsense, he rubbed her cheeks until she latched on to the bottle, then wiped her tear-streaked face with the corner of her blanket.

After a few minutes she relaxed in his arms, closing her eyes with a small satisfied sigh.

He stroked her head gently. Everything blurred through unshed tears.

She deserved better. She deserved to have parents who could give her all their love and attention with a free hand and unconditionally, not out of guilt or on condition that she be worthy of such attention. She deserved to grow up in a safe, bright house, not in the gloomy dungeons of a boarding school.

He looked toward Snape's study. The door was firmly shut.

Snape wouldn't care. He would be glad, even, if tonight was the last time he ever had to look at her.

He got up, careful not to disturb the baby.

There wasn't much that belonged to her. The few clothes she had were hand-me-downs given to Remus by the staff. Everything fit into one satchel.

He took one last look around the room.

The empty cradle still rocked, disturbed by Remus' hand as he'd stripped it of its blankets. Aside from this there was not a sign in sight that for two days and one night there had been a baby in these rooms.

He turned to go. It was better to do it quickly, before he lost his courage.

He walked to Hogsmeade by the last rays of the setting sun. There he waited, shivering as the chilly evening wind picked up, until the Knight Bus rolled in.

He had no money save what little he had left over from before the war. The ticket cost him all but one silver sickle.

The driver dropped the coins into a box propped up against the windshield. "Where to?"

"Ottery St. Catchpole."

It was the only place he knew to go, and he was betting everything on the possibility that Molly Weasley, with seven children of her own, might be able to help him. Might know someone who could give his baby a better home than he ever would be able to.

The driver looked up. "Say, not goin' to the funeral, are ye? Bit late for tha'."

Remus startled. "Funeral? No, I'm..." He recalled suddenly Snape's comment about Arthur looking for him that morning. "It's not... Do you know?... It isn't someone from the Weasley family?"

The driver threw the bus into gear, and Remus had to grab hold of the back of a seat to keep his balance. He waited with bated breath while the bus maneuvered onto the paved road.

"Naw," the driver said finally, leaning over to be heard over the roar of the engine. "Lovegoods. Young couple roun' 'bout yer age. Death Eaters set fire to their house nigh a fortnigh' ago. Lost their only child, they did."


End file.
